


Spoken too Late

by seidmel19



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Gen, Mando processing losing Grogu, Post-Season/Series 02, first fic, no beta we die like men, pretty much just Mando losing his mind for 1k words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:22:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28989927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seidmel19/pseuds/seidmel19
Summary: As the X-wing leaves the ship, reality sets in, leaving Mando reeling and his head whirling. The kid was gone, the Creed was broken yet again, and his life was in tatters.
Relationships: Din Djarin & Cara Dune, Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda
Comments: 5
Kudos: 45





	Spoken too Late

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya! This is my first posted fanfic. After watching the season 2 finale, the emotional weight of the last few minutes got me thinking. 
> 
> This isn't exactly well edited, but I figured to hell with it, might as well post it.
> 
> Please feel free to comment and let me know how I did or any suggestions!

The mechanical groan of the damaged cell doors was barely audible over the ringing in the Mandalorian’s ears. As a final thud echoed through the room, he finally collapsed on the seat. He frantically inspected the ceiling, shakily pulling out his blaster and destroying the leering camera. 

Chest heaving with frantic breaths, gloved hands reached up before the clang of his helmet striking the floor reverberated off the metal walls. Mando took a deep breath, holding his face in his hands and trying to block out the thoughts swirling in his head.

_ You broke the Creed you broke the Creed you broke the CREED- _

Shaking his head violently, he kicked his helmet across the room. How did he do it?  _ Why  _ did he do it? Until a few days ago, he would have killed himself before revealing his face. “This is the way,” he muttered, knowing that now that another being had seen him, not once, but  _ twice _ , there was no excuse. He could no longer call himself a Mandalorian. 

‘But what if Bo-Katan was right, and you don’t know the true way’ his mind whispered. He huffed. Even if it were true, he still lived and breathed the Creed as he had been taught. There were still three people breathing who knew his face: Mayfeld, that jedi, and… the kid.

He took a shaky breath. He could still see the wonder in the child’s -- Grogu’s, his mind corrected -- eyes, still feel the phantom touch of those three small fingers on his cheek. How could he not show his face? In that moment, he forgot about the jedi, forgot about his allies, forgot about the  _ way _ . All he knew was that he wanted Grogu to see him, to remember him. 

Reaching behind his armor, Mando pulled out the little metal ball that had miraculously survived the destruction of the Razor Crest. Rolling it between his fingers, he thought back to Ahsoka Tano. “You’re like a father to him,” she had said, in a tone laced with wonder. If only he had allowed the words that had sat on the tip of his tongue to escape. He never told Grogu how much he cared. 

And damn, that hurt. He wasn’t supposed to get attached. The child was a mission, and returning him to his kind should’ve been nothing more than a duty to fulfill. But somehow, somewhere along the line, he stopped being an inconvenient tagalong. He became his first priority. That little green child with dangerous powers was more important to him than the Creed.

Mayfeld had been right: everyone’s got their lines they don’t cross until things get messy. Showing his face had been an easy decision in that Imperial base. It was either that or never seeing the kid again, and he would do it twenty times over if he had to. 

After the jedi had left with Grogu, he’d immediately replaced his helmet and turned back to his allies. They’d all had various levels of shock on their faces, but Cara’s expression showed a grim understanding as she made eye contact through the visor. She was the only one who truly understood the levels to which he would go to hide his face. She’d seen him accept death rather than let her remove it.

While the adrenaline wore off, the reality of what he’d just done started to set in. Fennec was updating Boba Fett on the situation, and the two blue-clad Mandalorians were whispering to each other, with Bo Katan occasionally glancing down to the dark saber clipped to his waist. His frustration grew. Why couldn’t she just take it? He’d just broken the damn Creed, but she couldn’t even let go of a fairy tale. Cara, observant as ever, had noticed the rapid breaths and shaky hands as they cleaned the bridge. As his fists slowly clenched, she made a decision.

“Fett’s going to try and land soon. The X-wing may have managed around that mess, but he’s going to need more space. Mando, go get it ready”. The no-nonsense tone clashed with the empathy in her eyes. He nodded slightly, making his way down the hall and maneuvering around the dark trooper wreckage on his way to the dock. 

When Mando had passed by the brig, he paused. Gazing at the battered and scorched room, a wave of grief slammed into him, leaving the man reeling. Stumbling in, he’d remembered the terror of seeing Moff Gideon inches away from slicing the child, and his shaking fingers could barely close the doors before he made his way to the seat. 

Which brings him to now, sat lost in his thoughts and surrounded by the scars of battle, realizing just what he’d lost. He’d always known he had to give Grogu up. The kid needed training, needed the safety that Mando couldn’t offer. He couldn’t show the child how to cleave through a squadron of dark troopers, much less protect him from such powerful enemies. Hell, without the kid he’d have died to that mudhorn long ago. It was clear he couldn’t be enough. But he wasn’t expecting how much it would hurt to see that little face as it got smaller and smaller over the shoulder of the jedi, and he didn’t know the pain of being left behind by a being worth breaking the Creed for.

He sighed. Now what would he do? His ship was destroyed, he’d lost his covert, and his guild membership was null and void. All he had now was his beskar, used weapons, and an unwanted laser sword at his hip. He’d risked everything and lost most of it to save the foundling. Yet all worries about his future were overshadowed by his mourning of the child he’d come to care for. 

Reaching to his side, he unclipped the dark saber. Fidgeting with the hilt, he took a deep breath before flicking the switch. Immediately, the blade emerged, filling the room with an eerie hum as Mando gently waved it back and forth. Hesitating slightly, he then brought the blade to the floor, watching as it effortlessly seared a hole in the panel. He breathed in the acrid smell of burning metal as he observed the red hot glow around the blade. There was no resistance, no satisfaction of vibration as contact was made. Just effortless, emotionless destruction. Recalling the blade, he threw it to the side. 

Slumping against the wall, he reached behind his breastplate and pulled out the little makeshift toy that had survived so much. Clenching the metal ball in his fist, he whispered what he’d wanted to say all along:

**“You’re like a son to me”.**


End file.
